


To All the Times He’s Worn Blue

by sPoNgEbOb_fOnT



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Argentina National Team, CA San Juan, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Haikyuu!! Chapter 402: Final Chapter: Challengers, Haikyuu!! Chapter 402: Final Chapter: Challengers Spoilers, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Happy Birthday Oikawa Tooru, Insecure Oikawa Tooru, Japanese National Team, Jealous Oikawa Tooru, Light Angst, Oikawa Looks Nice in Blue, Oikawa Tooru-centric, Oikawa in Blue, POV Oikawa Tooru, Post-Canon, Post-Haikyuu!! Chapter 402: Final Chapter: Challengers, Post-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Sad Oikawa Tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sPoNgEbOb_fOnT/pseuds/sPoNgEbOb_fOnT
Summary: Oikawa Toru’s volleyball has always been blue. From junior high to high school to a professional team, he has never imagined himself wearing red. Always blue.(A birthday tribute to the Grand King, revisiting his journey through shades of blue. Congratulations, Argentina Man!)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio & Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Oikawa Tooru/Blue
Comments: 22
Kudos: 116





	To All the Times He’s Worn Blue

Oikawa Toru’s volleyball has always been blue.

His first Mikasa volleyball was a trinity of ultramarine, canary yellow, and white. The triad of colours blended into a blur of blue when Oikawa managed to recreate the elegant arc of a high toss with a light touch from the pads of his fingers. The ball was well-loved, evident by the worn leather and smears of grey from when it streaked across wooden floors after a particularly hard-driven spike.

He didn’t mind the bruises blossoming against his forearms; the sting the ball left on his skin felt rewarding, almost natural to him. It was no wonder that by the time Oikawa received his second volleyball—a Molten volleyball in a triad of white, red, and green—the white of the Mikasa one had already been stained with the brown of the dirt as a result of Iwa-chan’s shanked receives. 

The Molten volleyball was in wonderful condition—its skin firm enough to leave bruises— yet it was still the well-used Mikasa volleyball that Oikawa brought outside when he wanted to show Iwa-chan his newly-learned serve. Iwa-chan had laughed when the ball had landed on Oikawa’s head before his hand had even managed to make contact, though Oikawa only brushed it off before making his friend watch him another time. And another. And another.

Iwa-chan teased him afterwards, but Oikawa didn’t mind how his head ached from the many failed attempts—he thought it was fun. He was enchanted by volleyball as a moth would by light. The satisfaction of tossing the ball into an elegant arc, before spiking it to explode against the ground—yes, it was very fun. 

Looking back, it was the ultramarine of Oikawa’s first volleyball that had enticed him to fall in love with a sport as bruising yet exhilarating as this one. 

His first hero wore a jersey with stripes of baby blue against white. The particular pair of colours was only seen on the court, a striking contrast against the bright, patriotic red of the audience. Perhaps the reason Japan’s uniforms were imperial red, Oikawa thought, was to make use of the fortune and blessing the colour embodied. As Iwa-chan cheered on Japan’s wing spiker, Oikawa found himself drawn to the subtle setter with the number 13 printed across an icy blue and white back. 

The Argentinian setter had slipped into the game when his ace was falling apart at the net, and after building the spiker back up, he slipped out once more. The baby blue he wore matched his innocent and unassuming exit. The commentators all gushed over the ace’s revival, seemingly unaware of the setter whose tosses had turned a game around. Oikawa noticed him, though. He asked for his autograph, only to discover Iwa-chan had already used the board for his wing spiker’s signature. Eventually, Oikawa was able to produce a jockstrap for his hero to sign.

Although Iwa-chan had warned him to never let the jockstrap touch water lest the signature bleed, the undergarment still found its way to the washing machine. Oikawa complained, though only out of reflex. It didn’t matter his hero’s autograph was blurry; he had left the match with far more than a scribble. Oikawa had walked out of the arena with a dream—to become a setter, silent yet powerful like the blue of number 13 amidst a raging sea of crimson. 

Looking back, it was the baby blue of Oikawa’s first hero that had inspired him to play a position as subtle yet significant as this one. 

His first captain jersey was the underlined number 1 in dark azure against a white background. The beautiful blue of the uniform truly was indicative of the school’s powerhouse status with its team a favourite to become champions. With Oikawa serving as the control tower, the team plowed through all others—a battle of kings against peasants—to arrive at finals. Standing as one of the last two teams remaining on the court, it was no wonder the deep azure of Kitagawa Daiichi was also referred to as royal blue. It was fitting, Oikawa thought later, that a tyrant of the court was birthed wearing this royal blue.  
  
Yet Oikawa was once again reminded no matter how majestic its name was, blue was for commoners. Indigo kimonos were for peasants who couldn’t afford the bright dye of the nobles. Instead, it was the purple silk no lower-class citizen was allowed to wear that was reserved for the highest-ranking members of the Japanese aristocracy. Purple belonged to the gods amongst men, to Shiratorizawa. It was purple that Oikawa saw as the ball was slammed on his side of the court, once again marking another inevitable loss against a young giant he was never allowed to defeat. 

Yet amidst the deep azure and purple, Oikawa only saw red staring into the eyes of this left-handed genius. Ironically, it was red—the colour of passion, fortune, prosperity—that filled him with self-hatred for not being enough. Perhaps this was why his volleyball had always been blue. A depressing pigment, with an overtone as cold as the world he lived in, for withholding talent in the one thing he was utterly, obsessively in love with. For cursing him to be confined to mortal limitations and not allowing him to neither possess nor defy the gifts of a genius in volleyball. 

Looking back, it was the royal blue of Oikawa’s first captain jersey that had fuelled his hatred for a world as unjust and unforgiving as this one. 

His first setter kouhai had cobalt blue eyes. These sapphire blue orbs followed Oikawa’s every play as he served, blocked, and tossed. Haunting Oikawa along with those sparkling wide eyes were the repetitive requests to be taught how to serve. More specifically, Oikawa’s serve. His kouhai was gifted, destined to surpass him in every way, and yet the greedy genius was looking to pry the crown out of Oikawa’s unwilling hands early by learning the one skill where Oikawa could stand superior to him. It was rather rude, thought Oikawa, to mock others under the guise of seeking guidance when one was already so unfairly talented. 

When the prodigy with sapphire eyes approached him following yet another defeat by the other genius in purple, Oikawa could only see red. Black morphed into olive green just as royal blue uniform became purple, and yet the demonic scarlet eyes remained. They were coming closer; Oikawa blindly reached out to keep them back.   
  
It was solely because of his faithful Iwa-chan that Oikawa was able to narrowly avoid committing a grave mistake. The sapphire eyes faded away as Oikawa saw red dripping from his nose. All the rage and resentment that had built up from continuously falling behind prodigies faded as Iwa-chan reminded Oikawa that a court held two teams. Just as the baby blue setter helped the ace fly, the other five players would be ready to lift him back up if he ever found himself falling. 

Oikawa found himself believing in the force and majesty of royal blue once again as he held the fruit of his labour in his hands. A single metal plaque was evidence his spikers had fought tooth and nail to transcend the boundaries of mortal men in an effort to topple the gods. As he turned around to challenge his genius kouhai, not out of fear but pride, he remembered feeling full of hope and possibility having discovered he was able to look at this prodigy eye-to-eye and meet on the same stage. 

Looking back, it was the cobalt blue of Oikawa’s first setter kouhai that had pushed him to constantly evolve in a sport as demanding of both individual talent and joint effort as this one. 

His first high school captain jersey was the underlined number 1 in cyan against (once again) a white background. Even though he was offered the chance, Oikawa adamantly refused to play for the school in purple. He refused to extinguish the flame of his pride and ally himself with the gods for the sole purpose of breaking into the national scene. He would either only reach that stage with his band of mortal men, or he would reach no stage at all. It was fitting, Oikawa thought, that his new jersey was only a hue apart from the royal blue of Kitagawa Daiichi. 

Aoba Johsai’s cyan and white school colours were an interesting contrast to Oikawa’s previous ultramarine, baby blue, azure, and cobalt blue. Cyan was simply the result of a mixture of blue and green wavelengths. Green represented envy, and the amount Oikawa felt was unsettling.

Green was Oikawa hearing the genius wearing purple robes confidently declare himself capable of bringing his team to the national stage. Green was Oikawa seeing the Aoba Johsai: 0 beside the set number on the finals scoreboard a disgusting total of five times in his high school career. Green was Oikawa seeing the genius with cobalt blue eyes direct a toss with pinpoint accuracy with the lightest touch of his finger pads. Green was Oikawa sitting down to watch a match between the two teams he loathed. At this point, it was a wonder his volleyball hadn’t been completely stained green with envy. 

However, despite the colour symbolizing a deadly sin, it also represented growth. Perhaps this was why his jersey was no longer only blue—it held green as well. Certainly, Oikawa believed he had matured a considerable amount while donning this turquoise colour.

Green was the growth he showed in providing advice hidden under layers of snide remarks to his genius kouhai, as opposed to scaring him off. Green was the growth he showed in swallowing his loss and staring the same kouhai in the eye to say they were even and the latter should get off his high horse. Green was the growth he showed in reining in his self-loathing and frustration when the genius donning purple dared to suggest Seijoh—his Seijoh—had not been enough for Oikawa. Green was the growth he showed in looking this genius in the eye after a devastating loss to recognize his own pride and to warn him to (also) get off his high horse. Green was the growth he showed in believing in his kouhai when everyone else doubted the crows would triumph over an eagle. Green was the growth he showed in thanking his teammates for the last three years despite not once fulfilling his promise. 

Looking back, it was the cyan of Oikawa’s first high school captain jersey that proved he had grown in a team as intimate and bittersweet as this one.

His first jersey as a professional volleyball player was a deep sky blue. This sky blue—that had reminded him of the clear skies in Miyagi and the vast sea he had crossed and the cartoon label that sealed the packages of milk bread from the local bakery—no longer caused the same subtle melancholy as it once did.

After a whirlwind of orange and a reunion akin to a fever dream, Oikawa slowly discovered the blue of the CA San Juan uniform was startlingly similar to the ultramarine of his first Mikasa volleyball. They both held an enchanting mystical force; a siren song luring him deeper and deeper. Whereas ultramarine was spiritually linked to his infatuation with volleyball, sky blue was a new bridge connecting him to the little things he had overlooked when he had first arrived.

It was the colour of chipping paint in the bar his teammates always dragged him to because they dubbed it the official celebration spot, the colour of the next-door abuelita’s blouse when she handed him a plateful of panqueques con dulce de leche because she was worried he was getting too thin, and the colour of the stadium he saw when his teammates hoisted him up after winning yet another championship. 

Much like how the earthy, bitter taste of mate slowly grew on him, the sky blue of CA San Juan wormed its way into his heart. He found himself wanting more of this vast and soothing colour as opposed to the bold crimson he had left behind. 

In addition to blue, Oikawa wanted to wear white again. All of his jerseys contained the angelic colour, though Iwa-chan would say the innocence white represented didn’t suit Oikawa. True, Oikawa thought, his volleyball never held the naivety or goodness the colour embodied. He was always too ambitious, too envious, too aware of the harsh reality to be wrapped up in some blind fairy-tale fantasy where everyone was equal. At one point, his tunnel had been too dark for light to brighten. Yet his dedication to the sport never wavered, and perhaps that was why Oikawa thought wearing white was appropriate. Surely no other colour could represent the purity of his absolute love and devotion as the white he had always worn. 

More ambitiously, however, Oikawa wanted yellow. The most luminous of pigments, the embodiment of happiness and optimism. In a way, he had always been yellow, lighting up the room even during a time where he couldn’t smile. In another way, he had always craved the colour. Something darker twisted in him as he was forced to watch the ribbon with yellow ochre hanging from it be placed onto the shoulders of the genius in purple robes, then taking its spot atop the shoulders of the genius with cobalt blue eyes. Oikawa never wanted to shine like second-place silver, especially not when gold was so close. He desired more yellow, more gold—something as yellow and golden as the radiant Sun of May itself. 

Looking back, it was the deep sky blue of Oikawa’s first professional team that seduced him to fall for a nation as far from red as this one. 

His first jersey on the international stage was Maya blue. There were no stripes this time, but the number 13 was a reoccurring theme. There was something amusing yet deeply symbolic in being able to recreate the memory of meeting his hero, though this time with their positions reversed. Oikawa was no longer a watcher of the game amidst a sea of crimson; he was a player blazing in blue in a country of red. 

Oikawa gazed across the court, where the black lines of the net did nothing to soften the heat of the passionate scarlet worn by the opposing team. He locked eyes with the beasts hungry to tear him down—the genius who wore purple, the other genius with cobalt blue eyes, and even Iwa-chan himself. The match was no longer a matter of being enough, Oikawa thought with mirth, it was just a simple family quarrel. 

As the referee’s whistle sounded shrill in the stadium of anticipating eyes, Oikawa took a second to absorb the Maya blue backs positioned reassuringly in front of him. Then his eyes moved to the scarlet monsters awaiting his serve. Perhaps it was fitting that he had never worn (or ever would wear) a colour as synonymous with blessing and fortune as red. After all, his entire life he had begged for luck, only to be refused cruelly. Yet here he was—still standing on the same stage as those draped in blessings—so what use did he have for luck now?

As Oikawa’s hand met the ball with a majestic swing of his arm, he thought about how it didn’t take a genius to know that icy blue flames burned both brighter and hotter than red ones. 

Looking back, it was the Maya blue of Oikawa’s first national jersey that filled his chest with pride and satisfaction when playing against a generation as monstrous as this one. 

Under the blinding glare of the stadium lights and amidst the deafening roars of the voices around him, Oikawa bows his head to receive his golden token of victory. He raises his gaze to the flag rising in front of him, the brilliant Sun of May reminding him of the similarly coloured disk hanging heavy from his neck. The yellow he has chased after is juxtaposed with a white background symbolic of his pure devotion to his sport.

Lastly, he stares at the two stripes of blue encasing the other colours. His medal is dedicated to every time he’s encountered blue—from the ultramarine of his Mikasa volleyball to the baby blue of his beloved setter to the royal blue of Kitagawa Daiichi to the cobalt blue of his kouhai to the cyan of Aoba Johsai to the deep sky blue of CA San Juan and to the Maya blue of Argentina. 

For even with the victory of yellow and the purity of white, Oikawa Toru’s volleyball has always been blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed reading. This is my first time writing (why I had trouble with the tags) since I originally didn't intend to post at all. However, one day I couldn't sleep because I was thinking of Oikawa desiring the Sun of May as a symbol of victory. Eventually that thought turned into a birthday tribute for Oikawa, my favourite character in the series. There's an ungodly amount of figurative language in here that I'm not too sure I executed properly, and I also cannot grammar at all, so please overlook that!
> 
> Seeing him grow fills me with an unreasonable amount of pride as if I were his parent (he's older than me though haha). It was bittersweet to see him compete against his birth country, but witnessing Argentina basically adopt Oikawa warms my heart. Thank you, Furudate and Argentina. Maybe he has always known he would be playing in blue. Maybe he just thinks he looks nice in blue. Anyways, here's to Oikawa in blue! Happy birthday, Argentina Man!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome :D
> 
> Notes for the story:  
> I was actually so nervous to write this that I had to recheck to make sure all his uniforms were blue. I didn't want to publish this to find someone telling me one of his uniforms was actually like, neon pink or something.  
> \- I had to actually find my Mikasa volleyball and hit it to make sure the colours actually blended into blue, which it kinda did :D  
> \- Royal blue is supposed to be a dark azure, so I grouped those together  
> \- Cobalt blue and sapphire were sometimes shown to be similar, sometimes not  
> \- I used cyan instead of turquoise because cyan sounds cool :D  
> \- Gold is just orange/brown yellow, which is why the part "Something darker" worked perfectly because gold is just yellow + something darker  
> \- I separated baby blue and Maya blue, but from what I've seen, they're pretty similar  
> \- Did you catch that wordplay with genius at the end? That was pretty funny :D  
> \- There are probably other characters who've impacted Oikawa, but if they were left out, it's because they weren't blue :(


End file.
